


Kiss Me Deadly

by secretsofluftnarp (luftie)



Series: Boudoir Stories [2]
Category: The Thrilling Adventure Hour
Genre: Dating Doyles, Drinking, Multi, Sadie POV, Smut, Supernatural Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-23
Updated: 2015-07-23
Packaged: 2018-04-10 18:49:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,959
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4403168
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/luftie/pseuds/secretsofluftnarp
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sadie Parker takes her brand-new beau Frank to a fancy party.</p><p>(Also includes elements of Joseph Moncure March's 1928 poem "The Wild Party," except also completely different, because fanfiction.)</p><p>Many many thanks to lalalalalawhy & arsenikitty for beta-reading!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Kiss Me Deadly

Sadie was drunk, to begin with.  But that was hardly notable, was it? What _was_ notable was that Frank Doyle was seated next to her, in a relatively spacious and minibar-equipped back seat, and that her driver was taking them to some grand old mansion party that Sadie had decided they ought to attend simply because they _could_.  
  
She really, really liked him. Frank, that was, not the driver. Though she was not un-fond of the driver! She was fond of many people, and the driver kept the minibar stocked. Frank didn’t have a driver, but that wasn’t important, because they could just use hers, and when she had her driver get Frank from his apartment in a rather questionable part of town the driver hadn’t minded at all. Frank had come out of said questionable apartment wearing a top hat (adorable!) because she’d apparently told him it was a formal occasion. Most of Sadie’s occasions were formal, unless they rapidly became informal, as she rather hoped this one would, with Frank specifically.  
  
Sadie had known Frank, for, how long? More than days, but less than weeks. Time somehow seemed less relevant when he was around. And why wouldn’t it be – he had confirmed something she'd long suspected but hardly ever dwelt on until now: that there were worlds beyond their own, full of the less-drinkable kind of spirits. Of what use were timepieces, or parties, or incredible jewel-studded gowns with sweeping skirts and daring necklines when the universe turned out to be as strange as you once dared to think it might be? (No, on second thought, the dresses were still important. Sadie looked incredible today, if she did say so herself.)  
  
All that supernatural business was fascinating, which in turn made Frank himself fascinating. She'd been asking him playful questions the entire car ride.  
  
“Frehnnk,” Sadie cooed, “if you were an astronomical entity, what would you be?”  
  
“A comet. Always good to have some ice handy,” Frank answered, raising his glass to hers.

  
The ringing _clink_ that resulted was thrilling -- thrilling! -- and Sadie had wondered at that, too. Frank had a candor (a Frank-ness! Ha!) that made her feel that she already knew him. Resting her boozy head on his shoulder as they had watched ghost puppies ( _ghosts_ which were _puppies_!) scamper around had seemed like the most natural thing in the world. Now, Sadie was -- goodness, she barely knew the word -- _nervous._    
  
She suddenly cared deeply that he keep looking at her the way he was just now, knowing eyes over the martini glass. She was well aware that she hadn't kissed him, not even in the park with the puppies, and that she would very much like to. But the scene wasn't right yet -- it needed a little bit of flair, some finesse. Perhaps the party would present an opportunity.  
  
But now Frank was asking her a question.  
  
“Sadie,” he said affectionately, but with emphasis, “ _where_ is it that we're going?”  
  
“We're winding up Gilded Beach to a house owned by the daughter of, hmm, an industrialist-philanthropist-financier? Anyway Madelaine Sooth, the daughter to whom the house belongs, throws the grandest soirees for people who haven't got anything to do but attend soirees, and anybody who's anybody who wants to be seen by somebody is bound to be in attendance, and Frank, I've brought you along because I really think you're _somebody._ ”  


Their car rounded a bend toward a great house surrounded by neatly shaped foliage, and stopped. Frank squinted in the house's general direction. “And what became of Mister Sooth senior?”  
  
“A sudden death of natural causes,” Sadie said automatically. “Or, no, I don't believe it was ever confirmed...”  
  
Frank appeared to consider this for a moment, and then shrugged it off. “Sadie, in this pack of well-to-do's -- “  
  
“There's a whiskey baron!” Sadie exclaimed.  
  
“Darling, you read my mind exactly.” Frank helped her out of the car with what Sadie thought was exactly the right amount of hand-holding, while she relished how he said _darling._ It _was_ darling! Oh dear.  
  
They made their way up the grand steps (Sadie thought she saw something big, black and doglike rustle through the topiaries, but it only whimpered slightly as she passed) and through a foyer into a parlour-turned ballroom, where an array of guests were slowly beginning to whirl about a makeshift dance floor. A servant swooped in to take Sadie's fur and Frank's top hat, as the hostess slunk toward them barely covered in black lace. “Sadie Parker,” Madelaine said warmly, kissing her on the cheek. “And this is --”  
  
“Frank Doyle,” Sadie volunteered, as Madelaine took his hand, whispered “charming,” and looked back and forth between them, nodding knowingly.  
  
Frank looked over at Sadie, apparently concerned about what she thought of this woman’s forward demeanor. “Don't worry,” Sadie whispered audibly. “It's not you she's after.” True to Sadie's pronouncement, Madelaine and her tall black stilettos made her way back toward a silver-haired girl in a  -- how would you say it? -- more _minimalist_ dress.

  
The party was slowly getting underway. A pair of identically dressed men played a fast-moving but intense melody on a grand piano in the corner, while a guests slowly turned from their conversations to dance. A reassuring number of drinks were carried by on trays by well-balanced waitstaff, which Frank and Sadie immediately snagged. Sadie found herself momentarily mesmerized by the play of candlelight on the ceiling, which cast the guests' hands as great spiders among the light cast by their drinks.

  
Frank, meanwhile, surveyed the room as though he were casing the joint. “Creepy twins...over-use of mood lighting...recently deceased owner...” he murmured.

  
“Frehhnk,” Sadie breathed, triumphantly plucking and downing another martini, “do you mean to suggest that this mansion is likely haunted?”  
  
“I have my suspicions,” Frank said affably. “But, given that present company --” here he tipped his head toward Sadie “-- is infinitely more interesting than the troubles of some recently-deceased industrialist-philanthropist-financier, I intend to _ignore them entirely._ ”

   
“You are darling,” Sadie said warmly, “and quite correct.”

 

“This certainly is...an amount of people,” Frank remarked, looking out at the sea of polo shirts, flapper dresses, and suits not quite as nice as his.  
  
“Yes,” Sadie said. “New money.” With that, Sadie led him around the perimeter of the room for the briefest of introductions to important-looking people – _Sadie Parker, no introduction. Frank Doyle, supernaturalist_ – while downing proffered drinks at a speed such that the servers began to look mildly alarmed.  
  
“Sure, you could take it as a sexualized insult,” a tall, confident-sounding red-haired woman was saying to a shorter, blonde-haired, less confident-looking woman. “But he did say you were ‘better for night than for day,’ and you are _literally a vampire_ , so – “  
  
“Donna Donner!” Sadie exclaimed, throwing herself toward her old friend.  
  
“Sadie!” Donna cried, and caught her embrace. “It’s been ages! I mean not _literal_ ages, as that means something different seeing as I’m not-quite-mortal now, but how have you been, it’s been far too long – “  
  
Donna caught a look at Frank, and cocked an eyebrow. “Human?”  
  
Frank cocked a different eyebrow. “Vampires?”  
  
“Yes,” Sadie said. “Old money.”  
  
Sadie attempted to explain to Frank all at once about her college adventures with Donna, but behind her there was a man in thick-framed spectacles talking to a younger man, a polo-player type. The thick-framed-spectacles man kept clearing his throat in a most distracting manner, which Sadie largely managed to ignore.

  
“Rumor had it,” Carter Caldwell said, adjusting his thick-rimmed glasses, “that Mister Sooth senior so, er, _disapproved_ of Madelaine’s _lifestyle_ that he hadn’t intended to leave her the house at all.”

  
The polo player smiled. He was well-tanned, and muscular, and his teeth were perfectly set, and none of this was lost on Carter. “Well, there’s hardly anything the old codger can do about that now, is there?”  
  
The piano players hit a dissonant chord, and then began again at a faster pace. Frank offered his hand to Sadie for a dance. “Shall we?”  
  
They fell into a waltz expertly, alternating lead, seamlessly switching hands when a drink was necessary. Sadie was aware again of her hand on his shoulder, of the kind lines of his face when his came closer to hers. She thought, again, that there was a kiss of hers that she wanted to put on him, but this moment would be too showy, too gaudy, too much. Besides, the mood of this room was too abrupt, too growing in tension.  
  
“Mind if I cut in?” said a voice Sadie recognized as that of her old college friend, Ewing Klipspringer.  
  
“Rather would,” Frank said curtly, and sailed himself and Sadie off in the opposite direction. Sadie laughed, flattered.  
  
They passed the couch, where Madelaine was sitting closer to the silver-haired girl than was necessarily polite.  


“I’m not a vampire,” the silver-haired girl said softly.  
  
“Neither am I,” said Madelaine, huskily, “and I didn’t say you were.”  
  
“No,” said the girl, pulling away, “but you’re trying to turn me.”  
  
This room wasn’t right at all, Sadie thought, at least, not for her purposes. The music was too fast, the mood was too tense, people were starting to dislike each other (in fact, having other people in the room at all, that wasn’t quite right). Sadie saw the whiskey baron back by a bar, pointed him out to Frank, and excused herself for a quick moment.  
  
“Donna, darling, if I may ask you a favor,” Sadie said, approaching her friend, “you being exceptionally strong, with your vampire strength – if a supernatural ruckus _does_ break out, do you suppose you could _delay_ it for a bit while I get this one a little more secluded?”  
  
Donna sighed, but not at Sadie. “Yeah, sure. It’s not as if I got anything better to do. Don’t even know where my date went! Sadie, remind me why I decided to start dating _human men_ again?”

  
“You didn’t, darling, you just met one and were impressed with his puppy-like loyalty and the fact that his physical strength nearly matched yours. Plus, you ate a dowager countess, and word got around.”  
  
Donna raised an eyebrow. “So did you.”  
  
“ _Donna_ ,” Sadie chuckled, feigning embarrassment, “I did not _literally consume her_ until she was no longer alive.”

  
Sadie’s eyes drifted back to Frank, who was chatting and laughing with the whiskey baron, and Donna’s eyes followed. “I’ve got to hand it to you, Sadie,” Donna said. “You found an interesting one. Smells like corned beef and occult magic, under all that alcohol.”

  
Perhaps she could get him out into the gardens, Sadie thought. It was a cool, clear night, she could engineer something very romantic --  
  
“Sadie!” Frank called, clapping the whiskey baron on the back. “This noble distillerian says there are some rare untouched bottles on the second floor!”  
  
Or they could do that.  
  
Frank and Sadie climbed the staircase, promising they would bring something back down – Sadie suspected both she and Frank were lying about intending to come back down – and became aware of a distressing crashing sound just beyond.  
  
“The whiskey!” Sadie cried. They ran toward the noise.  
  
What lay beyond was a disheveled second sitting-room, which was currently being further disheveled by the ghost of a boring-looking man in a boring-looking gray suit, who was busy knocking over end tables and expensive-looking lamps. Before tipping over his final end-table, he raised the object that sat upon it high into the air, so that it caught the moonlight spilling in from the large bay windows. It was, quite clearly, a rare and important-looking booze-bottle.  
  
“You there!” Sadie called. “Be careful with that!”  
  
“You come into _my house_ –“ the ghost spluttered.  


Frank, true to his word, ignored the ghost entirely. He uttered a quick “Sadie, if I may,” and spun himself and Sadie around as if they were still dancing, just in time for them to both catch the bottle as the ghost predictably dropped it.  
  
“Frank, that was excellent!” Sadie cried. “I’m very glad you did.”  
  
And from her position – now quite firmly in Frank’s arm – Sadie found herself looking out the large bay window, at the moonlight spilling onto – yes, that wasn’t just a big window, it was a balcony, it was the absolute perfect secluded backdrop for what Sadie had been thinking about all night --

 

“Frank,” Sadie whispered, “now that we’ve rescued this poor, defenseless whiskey, I do believe both it and us could use a breath of fresh air.” She did not look at the ghost, who was beating on a loveseat with his poor, ghostly fists. “That is, if we can manage not to bring anyone with us.”  
  
“I think that – anyone in our vicinity is thoroughly tied up in their own affairs,” Frank said, continuing not to acknowledge the ghost, who was now tearing apart the loveseat cushions and sobbing.

  
It was as picturesque outside as Sadie had thought. The night was cool but not too cool and they could see all the way over the mansion grounds out into the still waters of the bay. Sadie knew that the long, sweeping skirt of her gown was iridescent in the moonlight, and that her face was well-framed by a few loose curls. By the light of the moon, Frank did look more dapper than mysterious, but still mysterious enough to be exciting. Yes. Good lighting. Sadie suspected that the big, full moon was also the reason that something wolf-like below them was howling, but it was easy to ignore that too.  
  
“Oh,” Sadie said suddenly. “Frank, have you got a glass to pour this whiskey into?”  
  
“Fear not!” Frank said, sounding like he was trying to sound a little bit more confident than he was. (Sadie had already decided that any further attempts to impress her, no matter how small, were still adorable.)  
  
But he produced two rocks glasses that he had also rescued from inside, and Sadie was genuinely impressed. "In _gen_ ious!”

 

"Well. Ingenuity is my middle name." He was bluffing now, and Sadie knew he knew it, and he momentarily averted his eyes and focused on pouring them drinks, which was also important.  


"Really?" Sadie said, taking a drink and leaning toward him.

  
He took her playful question as sincere. "No, I don’t have a middle name."

  
"Ooh! I'll figure out one for you!" Sadie thought for a moment. “Franklin Derring-do Doyle. No. Frank Excellent Haberdashery Doyle. No. Frank _Harvey Wallbanger_ Doyle – “  
  
“Sadie!” Frank fought back a giggle, and lost, wheezing out a laugh between words. He sounded perplexed, and delighted. “A _Harvey Wallbanger_ , I – “ He straightened his face as though he were straightening a tie, and began again, deadpan. “Sadie, forgive the expression, _but I hardly know ‘er_.”  


“Frank,” Sadie’s voice dipped, as if to say, _you are ridiculous, but I’ll allow it_. Then she said that as well.  
  
"Sadie Parker, you can call me anything you like," Frank said, and clinked their glasses again.  
  
Sadie smiled, full of boozy purpose. "How about I call you in a little closer." It wasn’t a question.  


This was it, exactly, Sadie thought, as their eyes locked. She could almost hear a swell of orchestral music, as their faces slowly drew closer together --  
  
And Frank’s unsteady hand spilled his drink down her front.  


Sadie thought fast. She noticed that most of the spilled alcohol had gone straight down her cleavage, that is, her dress was unscathed, but that was not the most important detail. The most important detail was that Frank was frozen, and she absolutely did _not_ want him to clear his throat loudly, apologize, avert his eyes, shuffle his feet, pull himself away. He was already so close to her, and she very much wanted him to stay there.  


She held her gaze steady to his. He was blushing, but not moving, and thank gods, not stammering an apology.  
  
"Frank, two things. First, you are allowed to look at my _décolletage_."  
  
He immediately did, and then looked back up at her.  
  
"Second, I can tell it's killing you not to go after the spilled drink. You may."  


"Sadie,” Frank laughed, out of surprise, or relief, or likely both. He laughed because it was at least a little bit absurd, and she was, nonexistent deity bless her, entirely genuine. "I ought to at least kiss you first."  
  
"You should," Sadie agreed, putting down her drink, and throwing her arms around his neck.  
  
The resulting kiss was pure joy; Sadie thought they might have both squealed with delight if their lips hadn’t been otherwise occupied. Her heart was aflutter but not afraid, and she thought, perhaps, that this was exactly where it wanted to be. He tasted like booze and felt like just the right amount of lips and arms and warm and human and silly and delightful.  
  
The old gray ghost in the old gray suit gazed out at them with large eyes tired from sobbing. He felt something that he hadn’t felt since years and years before his death, echoes of a better, truer love than he had shown his wife or daughter in the end. He heaved a sigh so mighty that it could be heard throughout the house, and the force of it broke his old, gray self into old, gray dust that wanted to be something other than it was, and floated down toward the party.  
  
Carter Caldwell sensed that something had changed, but he couldn’t quite decipher what. He noticed that the polo player was still talking to him, and that he was very handsome, and that he was running his fingers through his own hair as if he wanted to be doing something else with them, and when the polo player suggested “someplace a little more private” Carter said “no,” and instead kissed him on the mouth.  
  
The silver-haired girl, who had hidden herself in a corner waiting for a reason to leave, witnessed this kiss, and it stirred her out of hiding. “Madelaine,” she called, pushing herself through the crowded floor, not caring who she bumped into. “Madelaine,” she said breathlessly, pulling the tall woman away from her conversation, “I didn’t want to run away. I was only worried what people would think. I – I came here for you.”  
  
Madelaine eyed her, calm but pleased, and the silver-haired girl let the straps fall from her already-skimpy dress.  
  
The piano began to play softer, smoother. The piano players began to play with one hand each, slipping their spare hand into each other’s hand, seeing each other again for the first time. Couples began to dance a little slower, a little looser, mouths connecting, hands slipped under clothes.

  
Donna Donner surveyed the scene from a great armchair near the foyer, like a queen on a throne. The large black wolf – large, even for a wolf – sat tamely at her feet, head resting on her lap. “You could have told me, you know,” Donna said, riffling her fingers through the fur of the great wolf’s neck as if she were petting a puppy. “One step outside, and I smelled you immediately, I just didn’t know – you aren’t my usual type. But you shouldn’t worry, OK? I’ve definitely seen weirder.” Donna looked around the room, full of humans and the occasional vampire shedding their party clothes entirely. “You turn back into man-form at sunrise, that’s how it works, right?” she said, looking back into puppy-like eyes and smiling broadly. “These folks are giving me ideas.”

  
Up on the balcony, Frank drew his lips down the side of Sadie’s neck, kissed her collarbone, and made his way toward softer skin. Sadie leaned herself on the railing and tilted her head back, breathing deeply, her mind relaxed but her body taut with anticipation. Frank kissed the tops of her breasts gently, attentively, careful not to miss a spot. Sadie put a hand through his hair and breathed it in – he smelled warm, like cinnamon, and bourbon, and underneath a little bit gritty, cobblestone dirt scrubbed clean with borrowed, expensive soap. She most certainly did _not_ smell corned beef.  
  
Frank drew his tongue down to the little well between her breasts, toward the last of the drink that he could reach. He kissed the spot, holding it for several moments before returning his gaze to hers.  
  
Sadie kissed him again, this time lingering. They breathed, heavily, at the same time, resting their foreheads together. Sadie’s outsides had goosebumps – and a tiny drabble of cooled malt liquor insider her bodice -- and her deeper insides had warm pulses which were very difficult to ignore.  
  
“Frank,” Sadie giggled, “there's a little bit of booze inside my dress.”  
  
Frank waited, not wanting to overstep his bounds, but not quite able to step away from that image, either. “Tell me what you're suggesting.”  
  
Sadie felt that he would do anything she suggested, and she _did_ feel very suggestive, and too excited, and curious, and too full of boozy courage to back down from the opportunity which presented itself. “I’m suggesting,” Sadie said carefully, “that the booze may have _nearly_ made it all the way to my knickers, and that you ought to have a look inside them, just in case.”  
  
Frank kissed her again, suddenly, firmly, gratefully -- and just perhaps a ploy to steady his nerves rather than speak -- before diving under her voluminous skirt.  
  
Sadie settled back against the hand rail and laughed at herself – this was someone else’s home, after all – but if anyone walked out here she was sure she could give them a steady look, laugh, and carry on as though nothing was unusual about having Frank under her dress.  
  
Frank’s tongue found the last of the whiskey, just below her navel. It tickled, but she maintained her composure.  
  
Then he slipped his impossibly soft hands up the sides of her legs, slipping off her undergarment, and all hope was lost.  


He kissed her again, but this time at the front of her under-lips, the same firm, adoring kiss he had planted on her mouth. Sadie, speechless, tipped her hips forward so that more of his lips pressed to more of her skin, and he obliged, taking more of her in his mouth while moving his tongue in broad, upward strokes.

 

Sadie felt like a bubble that might burst at any moment, but then he pulled back, teasing, playful, bobbing or shaking his head so his mustache ended up where it most decidedly did _not_ belong. Sadie yelped, and she thought she heard Frank laugh. A short burst of hot breath on her underbits confirmed it, the _devil._ She patted his head through her dress, as if to say, naughty boy, and drew him back in.  
  
This time he went faster, harder, supporting underneath her with one smooth hand, and Sadie gripped the handrail and cried out involuntarily. Her body's response to a tongue-lashing was almost too much to bear. She thought she might burst into tears, or that her legs might give out. She began to shiver, and then shudder, and then her body began to demand, pressing back down on whatever parts of him pressed against her, until she finished in warm pulses that made her shudder until her body was still.  
  
Frank carefully extricated himself from her skirt, tucked her undergarment back up, and discreetly cleared his mustache with a handkerchief.  He stood up and held her, resting her head on his shoulder. Her breath hitching in little aftershocks, and he held her tighter, absorbing the little blows, kissing her forehead. Sadie had no sense of time, only security, and her breathing slowly returning to normal.  
  
"Frank,” Sadie said when she could speak again, and her voice curled lovingly around him. She kissed him again, deeply, on the mouth. “Frank _Doyle_ , you are _marriage material._ "


End file.
